


stuck in my head (stuck on my heart, stuck on my body)

by Anonymous



Series: E•MO•TION [1]
Category: I.O.I (Band), PRISTIN (Band), Pledis Girlz (Band), SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Bartenders, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Pre-Zombie Apocalypse, mentions of pledis girlz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:59:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8286697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Economics major Xu Minghao doubles as a Classy Bartender™ at the college bar, fends off shady assailants, and gets intoxicated by something that isn't alcohol// title from Carly Rae Jepsen - Run Away With Me





	

The lights pulsate against a backdrop of blurry bodies.

From the bar, Minghao can’t make individuals out of them.

He’s far too busy anyway. A group of giggly college students drag an older girl to the counter, their laughter unconsumed by the thumping bass of Vicetone’s Nevada. There’s six of them, and it’s a _riot._

“Our Nayoungie here is getting ma-rried,” the tall girl with cat eyes sing-songs, supported by another equally tall girl with short hair that he vaguely recognises as Kang Kyungwon from his college sociology class last April. They push forth a blushing, unwilling ringleader who’s red in the cheeks. “Not till next week!” she protests.

The younger ones surround her and pat her head. “So you gotta get _really_ drunk today!”

“So, what can I get for all you lovely ladies tonight,” Minghao asks as he twirls a hurricane glass in his long, nimble fingers, scarring himself with the cheesiness in his tone.

“Lovely! He used to call me lovely too,” someone clearly drunk wails, to which Kyungwon has to shush with a “Eunwoo, we’ll help you get laid soon, alright? Minkyung, hold her for me. Yeah, thanks. ”

The other pink haired one laughs and sits on the high chair right in front of him. Her smile glistens in the purple strobe lights coming from the stage where an obscure local band plays. Her hands thread through her hair quickly, the locks of fuchsia landing softly around her neck as she opens her mouth, bares her teeth, no shame, only unabashed chortles.

He’s seen her around before. Never sitting at the bar though. Most of the time, she’s flitting around with her other friends, on the couch, on the dance floor. Always moving, always smiling. Always with a different group. She could well be Coup d’Attack Bar and Grill’s number one promoter. And now, for the first time, she faces him at a proximity that breaks records in his mind, and, he’s overwhelmed.

_Just a bit._

“Jager Bombs anyone?” Minkyung calls out.

“Tonight’s a fancy night. Jager Bombs belong to our sad, broke college student reality. Not Nayoung’s though. We’re all getting some shots of Pornstars” the pink-haired girl says, making Nayoung plop down on the high chair next to her, double-taking in horror.

Minghao laughs at their confusion. “Pornstar shooters are drinks. Blue Curaçao with raspberry liqueur, perfect for budget bachelorette parties,” he winks. They holler in excitement, and Nayoung sighs in relief.

“It’s a real damn shame Yewon, Sungyeon, Siyeon and Kyla aren’t here,” Minkyung comments. Kyungwon shoots her an offended look. “They’re children, Minkyung!”

“How about you?” he gestures to the only one who hasn’t agreed on having a Pornstar shooter.

“A Virgin Mary. Because somebody has to be sane enough to drive these crazies back,” the girl that struggles to get onto the bar stool with her dress grumbles. She’s both short in hair length and in stature, and her scowling face is pretty funny. He gets to it right away, the popular drink’s recipe ingrained in his mind as second nature.

“Yebin over here’s just trying to justify for her low alcohol tolerance,” Minkyung pokes.

Minghao then fills a large shaker glass with ice, pouring in the Blue Curaçao slowly as it drips over the cubes . The Sour Puss raspberry liqueur follows suit, dying the glass in hues of purple.

“That’s so aesthetic,” Eunwoo gasps.

“You’re so embarrassing,” Yebin says without missing a beat.

“Shut up,” The pink-haired girl leans over the counter, enraptured as Minghao shakes the shooter behind his head, tossing it up and slamming it decisively onto the table. Bartending was kind of about the showmanship, anyway.

He lines up five shot glasses to the sounds of _oohs_ and _ahhs_ from the six of them, pouring the Pornstar into equal portions.

“To Nayoung’s last week as a single piece of hot flaming ass!” Yebin shouts, holding her bloody red Virgin Mary high above her head, cueing everyone else to do the same. “Yeah, because Minkyung and Kyungwon have their exams on Friday so we couldn’t do it the night before!” Eunwoo contributes.

They tip their heads back, gulping the shot down, with the exception of Yebin who fakes a gulp around her mocktail but continues to sip when the rest have bottomed their shots.

When they pay up for the drinks, Minghao shakes hands with all of them, one by one (even Yebin), and congratulates them on becoming a porn star. And when they leave, they disappear into the throng of people, squeezing themselves into the front row where the band plays.

He goes back to washing shakers and cleaning glasses. Another batch of customers seat themselves before him, and he’s back to making cocktails that burn holes in one’s wallet. Over one of their heads, he gets a glimpse of the party out there, where the lights pulsate relentlessly against the same backdrop of blurry bodies.

 

From the bar, Minghao can only see one.

 

 

 

When it’s an hour to closing, his manager Wonwoo tells him he can have a break and takes over, nursing the late late night crowd coming into the college bar at one in the morning.

Minghao heads to the back of the bar, breathing the chilly October air, letting it fill his lungs, before he joins his co-workers Soonyoung and Mijoo out in the alley behind Coup d’Attack Bar and Grill.

Soonyoung lights up and exhales as Minghao inhales, waving a cigarette before him. “Want one?”

“I’ve got asthma, remember?” Minghao replies.

“Oh yeah. Sorry kid. How are you so popular among the ladies anyway?”

“Me?” Minghao laughs incredulously, knowing that it isn’t true, but decides to play along.

“Yeah, according to my calculations about seventy percent of your customers are women,” Soonyoung whispers, like he’s about to discuss matters of the X-Files, “What’s your secret?”

Minghao beckons Soonyoung closer, like he’s about to reply with the name of a top-secret Illuminati-run facility. “My secret… is no cigarette.”

They both snicker at this, and are greeted with a “Shut up, kids,” from Mijoo who takes the refused cigarette and lights it up with a lighter of her own. “I’m just, really fucking done with life,” she continues from her rant from before, “I mean look at my vomit-covered vest. Did I, an innocent waitress, ever ask to get a mouth dump from a stranger? God I can’t believe-”

 

A blood-curdling scream rips across the alleyway, causing all three of them to perk up at the noise.

“What the fuck was that,” Mijoo whispers harshly, Soonyoung cowering behind her.

“M-Minghao, can you go check it out? It may be a r-rape attempt,” Soonyoung blubbers.

Minghao rolls his eyes but he’s no less panicked than them. “The last time there was a bar fight, I had to break it up. Why me again?”

But when a low, menacing growl is followed by the same scream again, Minghao doesn’t wait for Soonyoung to reply. He’s dashing down the street, turning a corner down the alleyway, searching for the source of the sound.

 

Behind the walls, there’s a flash of pink hair and the rattle of a body being thrown against the gates of the next building’s carpark. The lamplight throws shadows of man on an unwilling woman, and Minghao’s instinct to fight piques, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he springs into action. He grabs onto the man’s wiry hair and pulls back, throwing a punch to his jugular to stun him for a few seconds too short.

He takes these seconds to push the girl aside, telling her to run back and call the cops.

Surprisingly, the assailant doesn’t run after her, or run away at the prospect of a police arrest, but instead turns his attention to the fresh blood before him.

Minghao gets into an unstoppable brawl as the assailant throws him against the same gate with the same intensity. The assailant’s hands grab at his neck and Minghao dodges most of these attempts, until the man drops clawing at him altogether and dives into Minghao with his bared teeth.

“What the he-” Minghao yelps, barely missing the incisors by half an inch. The man doesn’t use punches or kicks, and doesn’t seem to communicate in anything else but growls, clawing at Minghao’s shirt and bursting holes open with his fingernails. He pushes the attacker against the brick wall, where a flash of light from the faulty lamps on the wall hits him straight on, and Minghao reels from the man’s appearance.

His eyes are sunken, his body covered in black-bluish sores, and Minghao’s frozen in place.

The assailant gladly takes this moment of inaction to gladly snap his jaws at Minghao’s forearm, that Minghao jerks away instinctually, just a little too late. His teeth scrapes against his skin, but it still hurts like a bitch. Minghao’s skin immediately bruises, an otherworldly clear blue showing up on his forearm in seconds.

Minghao knees him down below when he resumes concentration, pushing him down on the ground, giving the guy a nasty uppercut against his cheeks that makes the inflicted skin tear like paper.

The blood that struggles to flow due to its abnormally high viscosity is black, and Minghao hopes he saw wrongly in the poor lighting of the alley. He’s still able to struggle under Minghao’s frankly underwhelming weight, unwilling to let go, and Minghao gives up sitting on him. He musters all his strength and flings the terribly heavy man against the dumpster.

The dull sonance of the man’s skull hitting the lid of the dumpster reverberates across the otherwise quiet street, and his eyes shoot open unimaginably wide. The unadulterated, uninhibited rage in his gaze turns into a lost kind of desperation that causes the empty eyes to fill with life one more time, his pupils dilating rapidly, his eyeballs flitting in every direction, before they close.

The side of the assailant’s head slides against the dumpster, blood from his cheek creating a ugly spoor downwards, before he collapses in a heap.

For a moment, Minghao’s mind goes blank. _Did I kill him?_

He rushes over to the body and presses two fingers to his radial artery.

_He’s alive, and his pulse, it’s steady, almost mechanical, but deadly slow. Around thirty beats per minute…_

The blinding lights of the cops sweep over him, and he jogs away from the scene to meet the officer, glad to escape from it all. The police officer gets out of the car and aims a gun to him, and Minghao freaks out, raising one hand in the air and using the other to jab desperately at the figure crumpled against the dumpster.

The cop warily lowers his pistol and head towards Minghao. “Sorry, the girl told us there were two of you, one was helping to fight against the mugger, I couldn’t take chances,” he says hurriedly.

“He’s kind of knocked out unconscious? And I don’t think he’s a mugger. Also, he looks kind of sick,” Minghao says. The other officer beckons him over to fill in the paperwork for future investigation, to which Minghao quickly scribbles in his particulars and shoves the clipboard into the officer’s hands. He wastes no time and runs back to the bar.

 

 

Mijoo’s with the girl, who looks pretty shaken but otherwise, unharmed. Minghao rushes to the kitchen and returns with a blanket which he envelops her in.

“Are you okay? Did he try to touch you? Are you hurt anywhere?” The words rush out of his mouth all in one breath, and he’s still catching up to his heavy panting from his sprint.

She shakes her head, and pulls the blanket closer around her sides. “I’m fine,” she says unsteadily, words encased with faux bravado, and even attempts to laugh nervously. “I might be crazy, but I think he actually tried to eat me? But then I might be wrong, it was too dark, anyway.”

For some reason, he doesn’t think she was entirely wrong.

“Let’s get you inside,” he says, trying to shake the thought away. She holds onto the sinews of his biceps through coarse fabric for dear life, fingers trembling despite the smile she struggles to keep on her face. With this, he knows that she’s still kind of disoriented and sits her down in the tiny staff locker room.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, back turned against each other. He doesn’t really know what to do, so he just gives her _space_.

 _Space_ , that she soon eradicates with a meek tap on his shoulder. Her touch sets sparks across his skin, against the torn fabric of his uniform that leaves adequate portions of his back bare.

Minghao turns around instantly to greet a toothy smile and an outstretched hand.

“Thanks for just now. I’m Jieqiong,” she says brightly. There’s a minor scratch across her neck that’s already closed up, but she shines in the darkness, a kind of radiance that leaves Minghao on the edge.

In a good way.

Minghao shakes her hand and gestures to his name tag that now clings onto his soiled uniform a little pathetically. “No problem,” is the only thing he’s able to vocalise in his usual smooth bartender voice, before pointing to the bathroom and taking off in that direction.

 

Once the door is slammed shut behind him, he grips the edge of the sink and stares at his reflection in the mirror. He turns on the tap, struggling to wash off the mixture of his fresh, red blood intermingled with the man’s much darker one. His brown hair’s slightly matted against his forehead, and thankfully there aren’t any injuries above his neck level, leaving him still presentable for work in the future. It’s not like he’s unfamiliar with a scratch or two, being practically the bar’s go-to firefighter when fights break out in the club. But the strange, azure bruise left from the scraping of the man’s canines are stark against his skin. It’s colour is reminiscent of the Blue Curaçao liqueur and has Minghao staring at it for a full minute.

Until, of course, he realizes the tap’s still running at full force.

He quickly wipes his hands on the back of his shirt and emerges from the bathroom. But by the time he returns to the staff locker room, Jieqiong is already gone, blanket folded neatly on the bench.

 

And in spite of the pain from his various scars of battle, the place that burns the most is the edge of his shoulders, where his shirt remains torn, where her fingers first met his bare skin.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even drink lmao can you tell? i studied bartender terminology and watched bartenders making fancy drinks i'll never be able to pull out of my ass in any life time, for a whole week.  
> please leave feedback or talk to me about carly rae jepsen's glorious album(s) ;-; 
> 
> ps: haoqiong sounds really funny because Hǎo qióng （好穷） in chinese means "really poor"  
> pss: Coup d'Attack. what can i say aint everybody thirsty for some D attack from coups // also attempted wordplay with coup d'etat


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